


Building dreams

by Menial



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Absolution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menial/pseuds/Menial
Summary: This story continues where "Breaking Dreams" (Dragonofdispair) leaves off.Prowl woke up in the Autobots' medbay. He's repaired, but what kind of life can a disabled ex-noble expect when his country and castle lay in ruins? And there's the twins, Ricochet and Jazz... How can he live as an equal to the mechs he owned, hurt, enslaved and almost killed? Is there any chance for absolution for a mech like him?





	Building dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Breaking Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232043) by [dragonofdispair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair). 



> When I read Breaking dreams I wanted to write more; it's the kind of amazing story that can only inspire me. So I wrote, sent it to the author, and she encouraged me to write more! Here's the result.
> 
> This amazing story wouldn't be what it is without the incredible work of Draonofdispair, who also provided tons of tidbits and details that enriched this story! Thank you for letting me play in your story, it was a great experience!
> 
> Beta'ed by dragonofdispair.

Days spent in the medbay were almost frustratingly boring for Prowl. He had nothing to do, to read, or to care for. All he really could do was think, which was perhaps a good thing. He had a lot to reflect on, and he needed to decide what to do once he was released from Ratchet's care.

Prowl had never really experienced Praxus, and he wasn't really grieving it, but it was still a horrible event. Maybe war hadn’t yet affected the whole of Cybertron, but Prowl knew it would happen. Only a blind mech would think otherwise. After rejecting the path of the cruel master he knew he’d been, and denied his slow suicide from loneliness and grief, he had a choice to make: he had to take a side.

As for who he would sign with… Prowl just couldn't see himself siding with people who would commit atrocities like the destruction of an entire nation, or the other things he’d heard whispered. If he took that path, he would end up back where he started: believing that those whom he had exploited weren’t even people. The Autobots were the only option left in his mind; they seemed a decent group of mechs. And they had Jazz. Jazz and Ricochet. Prowl didn’t think he would ever be able to raise a hand or weapon to either of them, directly or indirectly. He’d done enough damage.

So, Autobots. To be accepted, Prowl knew he would need to bring them something useful, a skill set they would value. He certainly couldn't fight; Ratchet had repaired the physical deformities as best he could, but there was damage beneath and his twisted body would never be capable of combat. There was not much left for him to offer an army.

He had been good at managing his household; he had done the accounting for a castle employing hundreds of slaves. It hadn’t even been paranoia that had made him do everything himself. After his hatred of being looked at had pushed him to blind the slaves, there had been no one who could keep the books and manage the fuel for everyone. It made his tanks feel uneasy, but… Would that be useful? Would that be enough for the Autobots to let him stay? Looking how ragged Ratchet appeared, and how behind he was on pretty much everything, probably.

So Prowl offered to take care of the medbay's inventory. He could tell Ratchet was sure he would just have to fix it after, doubling his workload. Still, he said yes. Prowl wondered if it was that obvious he needed to do something. The forced rest was very rough for him, but he’d thought he’d hidden it better.

Prowl was surprised when the medic didn’t come to check up on him, or correct his work. He wavered between depression at the thought that Ratchet simply didn’t care if he messed everything up, or satisfaction at the implied trust, then back to depression remembering how he’d messed up literally everything he’d ever tried to make his life better. He didn’t let his thoughts interfere with his work. Ratchet was probably just busy with a patient.

Later, an exhausted Prowl came to Ratchet and told him he was done. He didn’t wait for an answer; he walked back to his medical berth and went back into recharge.

The next morning Ratchet admitted he’d expected a disaster and had been very pleasantly surprised at how much work Prowl had done. He could see the advantages and need for a talented manager, and offered to sponsor him to the Autobots in that role, if he was interested.

Prowl blinked, and told him he would like that.

So a few weeks later, when he had healed as much as possible, Ratchet recommended Prowl for an administrative position. Prowl was grateful; because of his health, he would never have survived the basic combat training required of all new recruits. Ratchet did make sure a note was added to his file saying he needed to be watched. It would be a good idea to not let him rise in the ranks, and to keep a close optic on how he treated the others. He seemed to be a decent mech now, but he had owned slaves in the past — some of which were currently Autobots. Precautions were required, according to Ratchet. And, if he was honest with himself, Prowl appreciated the oversight.

This is how Prowl started with the Autobots. He didn't wait to begin, relieved at being finally doing something. Something right.

-+-

Jazz visited twice while Prowl was still in medbay. He was glad Prowl had found a way to make himself useful, and congratulated him when he got an official position managing inventory for the Autobot base outside Praxus. Nevertheless, he kept his distance from Prowl. He could never forget and become comfortable with his former master, and that distance, the constant reminder of what he’d done, was hard on Prowl.

Jazz obviously also spoke with his brother and those friends who knew about his past, explaining Prowl’s presence, who he was, and why that was significant. Immediately, Ricochet ran to the medbay, ready to reduce the ex-noble to slag. Ratchet restrained him while Ricochet spat threats and curses at his former master. He promised to kill Prowl if ever even thought about touching him or his brother. Or anyone else for that matter. They weren’t his playthings!

Prowl didn't attempt to justify or explain what happened. He stood there, calm and subdued in front of the raging mech. He trembled. Even like this, Ricochet was beautiful, and Prowl was ashamed of the thought. With a lowered head so Ricochet wouldn’t see the admiration (or worse desire) in his gaze, he promised to show the utmost respect for everyone.

Prowl received several similar visits from other mechs and femmes as well. Not as brutal, but clearly Jazz and Ricochet had made a lot of friends, and those friends felt very protective.

They were also understandably angry on the twins’ behalf. "Accidents" happened. His datapads disappeared, and he would have to redo the work. Objects and legs tended to end up in his way right as he was walking by, especially if he was carrying things. Prowl ended up often on his aft. Stacks of datapads were scattered across the floor. His ration was spilled on the ground.

Ratchet witnessed an incident like that once. After Prowl was done cleaning the mess (while nearby mechs heckled and made several snide and quite humiliating remarks), he told the entire rec room how such behavior wasn't fit for Autobots. And if ever he noticed Prowl losing mass due to these cruel attacks again, he would personally weld all of their mouth shut to teach them what it was like to go without fuel. Prowl had already left the room, but he lingered in the hall, listening, and was grateful to the medic.

The attacks on his fuel stopped. Not the rest.

-+-

Life as a common mech was very different from the life he’d known up to that moment in so many ways.

One of the first things Prowl noticed was how people didn't react to his presence. At first he’d thought it only because he looked normal now, but then he realized it was something else. He would walk down a hallway and groups of mechs would walk right next to him, and they wouldn't even stop their conversation... That was crushing. He heard a lot of nasty comments; mechs didn’t even bother hiding how they felt about him. It took him a long time before he got used to exiting the barracks and not-deferred to. It took longer for him to be able to do so without people being horrified.

Mechs were also a lot more casual, which Prowl expected as much as it surprised him. He was expecting people to be casual towards him. No one bowing, no ‘yes my Lord', and especially no one following his every order. It was how they treated each other that he wasn't expecting. Relationships were a lot more relaxed and friendly. Mechs and femmes laughed with each other, slapping their shoulders, or teased each other. It was so very strange to him.

He was revolted at first. This was not how civilized mechs acted! Yet, he forced himself to alter his point of view. What he’d been taught as a (hated, outcast) noble wouldn't help him here, so he tried to relax his manner. At least, as much he was capable of. Which wasn't that much, he admitted to himself.

-+-

Some people weren’t cruel about where he’d come from. Ratchet, of course, who always spoke with him when they were in the same room. It was strange, and he supposed the medic was probably his first friend.

The Prime, once Prowl has transferred away from Praxus and the front and closer to Iacon. Prowl couldn't act anything but very formal around him; he wasn’t, couldn’t be, a friend. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if the Prime had tried to become friends. Besides, Optimus Prime was cordial with everyone, so it didn’t count, right? In a sense it didn’t matter; it felt great to be spoken with. To not be ignored, and to seen by him as something that wasn’t monstrous.

Optimus Prime’s regard may have been only that of a kind person, but it soothed an ache and hurt that had nothing to do with either his deformity or the repairs.

Kup passed its own judgment and decided Prowl wasn’t really a bad sort. Prowl was rarely sitting in the rec room, but if they both did, Kup would exchange a few words with him. The older mech had also, a very long time ago, been a slave-owner. He’d overseen a large plantation, worked by slaves. He had given up on that life long, long before Prowl had even been sparked, but he knew some of what the younger former-noble was going through.

Slowly, to Kup, Prowl opened up about his time locked in the castle. How loneliness and desire had driven him to buy a pair of pleasure slaves, how he’d deceived Jazz to befriend him, the realization that Jazz and Ricochet were people and that they feared him. He whispered what he’d done, his inability to accept the idea having sparked a clutch with Jazz, his attempt to free the twins instead of hurting them further by having the eggs aborted, and how his first attempt at kindness had backfired so horribly.

Kup listened, and he understood. He’d done something similar when he’d had his own realization that he was working his slaves to death, and that they were people, not objects. He’d let a young mech, barely an adult, run away. Only to find that very same young slave strung up in the town square later that day.

It was a horrible story, and it resonated with Prowl. If Kup could adapt, then so could he. Kup was Prowl’s second friend, and it took centuries for him to realize it.

Bumblebee, though, told him right away he and Prowl were friends, leaving no room for Prowl to wiggle out of it. Prowl was informed in no uncertain words that, in Bumblebee’s view, any ex-noble ready to shed their old life was worth knowing. That brought a smile to Prowl's lips as he replied: “I am honored you give me so much credit.”

Bumblebee refused to let Prowl lessen his action. “Many nobles are bitter. They’re trying to hold on to old values that make no sense in the world as it’s becoming, just because they refuse to change. You don't; you’re actually trying to fit in with us. ”

-+-

Sightings of Jazz were rare; Prowl actually didn’t know where he was stationed. Ricochet made sure to stay as far away as possible.

Prowl would always miss them both, the only mechs to ever showed him affection no matter how fake it had been. But he forced himself to realize how much they had both changed. Ricochet was bitter, hard and kept everyone at bay. Jazz... Looking at him was torture. If the Jazz he had first met was a beautiful pleasure slave meant to be desired in every way, this one was gorgeous, desirable, for entirely new reasons. He had more mass, weapons, tools and, of course, his visor was more than a covering meant to cover how Prowl had mutilated all his slaves. Good changes. But it was Jazz’s whole demeanor that was the biggest, most significant change.

This new Jazz had confidence, charm, friendliness. He wasn't a scared slave anymore, but a confident mech, smiling, with friends and lovers, daring and dancing because he wanted, not because he had to. It was the same young mech Prowl had gotten a momentary glimpse of when they had been in the library together. Jazz hadn’t known, then, that “Prowl the librarian” was the Baron, and he’d let himself show his joy in teaching himself how to play music. Those were Prowl’s favorite memories.

Of course, interfacing with them had been incredible, but it was the real Jazz coming out of his shell during his visits that had made Prowl start to care. He loved seeing it now, just as he had then.

But he couldn't say anything. One the few occasions he saw Jazz in Iacon, he publically treated Prowl as the friend they had been then, in the library, not as the monster he still was. A monster who still treasured memories of abusing and raping his slaves. Guilt for what he did crushed his spark, but he couldn't force himself to regret, no matter how much he believed he should. He didn't regret buying them, watching them, touching them, and experiencing the presence of another being close to him.

He was a monster then, and was a monster now.

Prowl couldn't stand to watch Jazz dancing in the rec room. Couldn’t stand the raging jealousness or nasty possessiveness if he caught Jazz flirting with someone. He never said anything, though. It was a bitter reminder of all he had lost, but also of all he’d never had in the first place. Dancing, Jazz was a reminder of all the things he shouldn't have done, and of all the memories he treasured.

It always ended up with Prowl stiffly walking away. He locked himself in his office alone to rage against a universe that did everything to make him suffer.

-+-

When he realized Prowl wasn't hunting him down, or doing anything improper, Jazz started to visit Prowl from time to time. More than showing guarded friendliness in the halls, he actually came to visit! He only came to Prowl's office, and he kept his visits short, but they still made Prowl feel giddy.

Prowl was more than happy to talk, more than happy to just have Jazz there, even if he had no ability to engage in small talk. Utterly isolated as he’d been, his previous life had had no room for inane conversations, and he didn’t want to risk poking his clumsy words into any open wounds Jazz might still have. He kept the topics impersonal, away from any treacherous verbal pitfalls. That made the visits quite awkward, but Prowl didn't mind. It was better than no visit at all.

But he always had a small smile for his visitor. He was always pleased to spend some time with Jazz.

-+-

Ratchet was also a frequent visitor in Prowl’s office. They were friends, and though it had taken centuries, Prowl was comfortable with that. Ratchet was always checking on his health, but they quietly talked about all sorts of things. It was during one such visit that the medic realized something troubling…

Ratchet looked at Prowl with a calm field and a small smile. “Prowl, I don't think I've ever seen you driving around. How you do that?”

Prowl froze. He had no idea how to answer this seemingly simple question. “I do not, Ratchet. I… I have never transformed.” He was too damaged. He didn’t even know what his alt form was.

Ratchet lost his smile and walked around the desk, grabbing him by the wrist. “You're coming with me. Right now. I know for a fact your T-cog work and not using it is unhealthy. So we'll fix that.” Ratchet was his usual brisk medic self, but his field was worried and shocked. That wasn't good. At all. They were made to transform, and transform Prowl would!

Without waiting for Prowl's permission, Ratchet brought him to the base's racing track. He only released his wrist once they were both at the start line. Prowl didn’t try and struggle, but once there he just stood there. He didn’t know what else to do. His T-cog worked? Since when?

“Transform. Now. And do at least 10 laps else I'll turn you into an Energon dispenser.” Ratchet crosses his arms, very much the image of a stubborn medic.

Prowl's field was very tight and his expression closed. “I cannot.”

“Yes, you can! And you'll transform now or help me you won't like me!” Ratchet's raised voice caught the attention of mechs around them, who stopped their conversations to look at them both.

Prowl never liked being the center of attention, and now dozens of mechs were looking at him. Judging him. Thinking about how much of a monster he was... For the first time, Prowl raised his own voice slightly and sounded angry. “I cannot, Ratchet, because I do not know how!”

“Come on, stop playing with me. You transformed before the bombardment, so just do that!”

“Ratchet, I do not know how because I have never transformed once in my entire life.” Prowl turned and walked away, trying to save his dignity. He could hear people laughing and mocking him without trying to hide it.

“Look at the poor noble who can't even transform!” “What a useless piece of trash!” “I'm surprised he can even ventilate!” Prowl was trying to fit in, but it was clear no one was forgiving, or forgetting, what he’d been, what he was. It didn’t matter how nice his plating was; he was still the Baron of the Crystal Forest. Hideous. “Guess you finally know how us slaves feel Baron.”

Humiliated, Prowl walked away from the track. He heard Ratchet yelling at all those laughing. “Leaving the poor mech alone!” but didn't look back. He locked himself in his office, barely holding back his angry tears.

-+-

 

A day later, Prowl received a datapad containing only a message from Ratchet.

_I'm truly sorry, Prowl, I had no idea; I knew some of your damage wasn’t caused by the bombardment but didn’t know how much. I spoke with Jazz. He didn't want to talk; said it wasn't for him to tell, but he finally gave me a description of the damage you had even before the fall of Praxus. I thought enough time had passed that your scars would have healed; I was wrong._

_There's nothing I can do to fix the past; I can only help you by try and make a better future. If you still trust me, I'll show you how to transform, and I'll make sure you can try your tires for the first time on the track without any witness. You won't regret it, it's the best feeling in the world, I guarantee it._

_Ratchet._

Prowl wanted to destroy the datapad, but he stored it in a drawer for later.

Several weeks later, he finally replied: _I am ready._

Ratchet brought him back a couple of days later, and as promised the whole place was empty. Prowl walked to the start line, his field confused. Always professional, Ratchet showed him his transformation seams, demonstrated how to flex them to pull himself into a new shape, but didn't do this for him. This small victory was all Prowl to savor.

Prowl wasn't sure. He had heard, read, how amazing it was. He’d seen so many mechs transform, mostly here in Iacon, as part of the Autobots, yet, what was right for him? He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and a calm field enveloping him. Supporting him. “Go ahead, Prowl. It's time for you to feel it.”

Ratchet stepped out of the track, staying on the side, waiting for Prowl to activate his transformation sequence for the first time. He looked delighted for Prowl.

Finally, Prowl did it. He transformed. He felt all the strange feeling of having his parts moving in a direction they normally shouldn't, but somehow, it felt right. He gasped at a spike of pain in his leg, but it was gone in an instant, then he was done. His entire frame was something new. He looked like a sleek ground vehicle, not ugly at all, and the desire to move suddenly grabbed him.

“Go, Prowl! Drive!”

Prowl drove. The sensation was extraordinary. Prowl had thought being inside another vehicle, pulled by swift zap ponies, was thrilling, but he was realizing why some people weren't excited about the idea of using a carriage… The sensation of the wind on his plating, his wheels on the pavement, nothing stopping him... Nothing could compare to that. Mindful that he’d never done this before, Prowl did one round at a sedate pace, but once he crossed the finish line, he accelerated and chose to test his own limits. Steering was harder than he’d thought it would be, and he slowed, picking a more reasonable, but still swift, pace that he could enjoy.

He didn't stop until Ratchet told him to, saying he shouldn't strain his frame too much.

Reversing the sequence he used to transform, Prowl yelped and grabbed his leg, the one that had always been so badly twisted. Ratchet took his scanner and checked Prowl all over. “It's one of your protoform deep scars. Not much I can do with that, sadly.”

He’d yelped because it was unexpected. He’d gotten used to the reduced pain he’d been after his repairs, but it was nothing like the pain he’d dealt with every day as the Baron. He didn’t care; one little twinge was worth being able to transform and drive. He gave Ratchet a quiet smile and let the other mech feel how delighted he was with his field. Driving for the first time had been an amazing experience, one he refused to let be diminished by his maimed frame. “It does not matter, Ratchet. Thank you very much for this wonderful experience. Definitely worth some minor pain.”

Ratchet shared his smile, then briefly patted him on his shoulder. “I'm glad you liked it.”

As they left, Prowl caught a glimpse of another mech watching them. He couldn’t see who it was, and he felt a brief spike of anger that his first drive hadn’t been private as Ratchet had promised. This was supposed to be his moment, his private victory. But then he met Jazz’s visor, and Prowl’s anger faded. He lowered he optics; he didn’t mind sharing with Jazz.

Maybe the mech would agree to race with him? It was a pleasant fantasy, even if Prowl knew Jazz would never be that comfortable with him.

-+-

Prowl had been an Autobot for many years, and had found an equilibrium of sorts, when Jazz knocked on his door to shake up his world again. Expecting one of his usual short visits, Prowl was surprised when Jazz leaned against the wall, looking at him, instead of sitting in the visitor’s chair of Prowl’s very small office like he usually did. He was slowly taking over, and being assigned, the logistics of more and more of the army as the Autobots dug in to defend their borders against the Decepticons. But because of the note in his file not to give him command authority, he was still a staff sergeant, so his office was no bigger than a repurposed cleaning closet, despite the amount of data he dealt with daily.

Jazz’s field was tight on him. He didn't say anything for a moment, and when he did, it wasn't with his usual cheerful voice. “Hey, Prowl… Why did you do it?”

Energon turned into ice in Prowl's veins. Even with his long-held habit of keeping them still from when one had been fused to his back, he could barely stop his doorwings from trembling. There was only one “it” it could be, with Jazz.

The question was like a dagger in his spark, but Jazz deserved an answer. So Prowl puts the datapad down and gave all his attention to the mech in from of him. “I was alone, Jazz. You saw how the mansion was. The loneliness was crushing me. Before being locked in the castle, my creators tried to pay for professional mechs, but they refused when they saw me. I did not even think of slaves at first, because even they had shown disgust, but… in the degradation and filth of the market, you and… Ricochet,” he forced himself to say the name, to not flinch from what he’d done. “You were so beautiful. I wanted you like I had wanted every other trinket I owned.” Prowl sighed, looking at his desk. He couldn’t look at Jazz. “I know it was disgusting, but when you told… me,” he owned up to his deception in the library too, “how you were bored and afraid I would sell you if I did not make use of you, I took advantage.”

Jazz didn't say anything. Prowl waited, looking at his desk in defeat, his EM field full of misery. Without saying anything, Jazz walked away, closing the door behind him.

Pain burning his spark, Prowl couldn't hold back his quiet sobs as he covered his optics with his hands.

-+-

At first, Prowl visited the racetrack once in a while, always off shift, worried people would laugh at him. Then he realized he wasn't bad at driving, and he was getting better. He set goals for himself, and raced the clock. Eventually, he dared to try himself with another mech for a casual race. He lost of course, but he didn’t let it bother him. It had still felt good to do. He congratulated the winner, which surprised his opponent. A few days later, he dared to challenge someone else, then another mech, and another. He lost every race, but he was getting faster, and one mech gave him a few tips on how to become a better driver.

-+-

More centuries passed and, if the war wasn't easy, Prowl felt comfortable in his routine. Mechs were really starting to accept him. Or at least ignore him rather than picking on him, and that felt pleasant. He no longer saw his monstrous nature reflected back at him in others’ optics.

Desperation and changing attitudes brought changes to Prowl’s routine. As Prime and Ratchet (who had written the original ban on giving him rank) started to trust him, Prowl was finally permitted to rise in the ranks. Instead of less qualified mechs being promoted above him as attrition took its toll, Prowl was promoted. With it came more responsibility, and more to do. As he was rarely doing anything else than working, that was fine with him.

He did find it amusing when his promotion to corporal came with a transfer to Iacon, which was where he’d already been stationed. It seemed the massive bureaucracy that was the army had lost track of quiet, competent, seemingly unambitious “Staff Sergeant Prowl” while the ban on promoting him had been in effect.

He still had few people he could call acquaintances, and even fewer friends, but he wasn't trying to change that. Respect was fine with him, and he didn't know how to make people like him. He still wasn’t sure he wanted people to like him.

The time Ratchet invited him for a quiet evening of energon with his friends, Prowl at first wasn't sure if accepting would be a good idea. But he went. And if he wasn't the most talkative mech there, he still enjoyed the experience. He also discovered Prime's informal side, something he wasn't expected at all. It seemed their leader had a sharp sense of humor and enjoyed good high-grade when surrounded by his friends.

On their side, they discovered Prowl could do other things than working and that there was a mech behind the colleague. He liked reading, and music (especially the violino, though he hid just why that was his favorite). They coaxed him into trying some more social activities, and he found he especially enjoyed one particular board game they taught him. Prowl truly enjoyed himself with other mechs for the first time. He lost his first game, while a slightly tipsy Prime and somewhat drunker Ratchet explained the rules. The next game he won. Or rather, he destroyed them. Then again the next time they were together before anyone started drinking. Then anyone willing to play with him in the rec room. It seemed he had a natural talent for tactics he hadn’t been aware of.

Seeing this, Prime decided to send him to training, to hone his skills. And more than just good at it, Prowl discovered he enjoyed it immensely. Or, at least, he enjoyed the simulations.

Not long after he changed departments.

Junior tactician, Lieutenant Prowl had a larger office, and small but private quarters, and there was something deeply satisfying about organizing his haphazard collection of books and bookfiles in his new space. He hadn’t bothered sorting them as he’d bought them (he didn’t have anything else to spend his pay on), and he found he liked playing librarian again. As a tactician he was still mostly doing logistics, only instead of simply filling out the paperwork involved in shipping supplies throughout Autobot territory, he was also tasked with making arrangements for those supplies to arrive at their destinations safely.

-+-

“Hello, Prowl.” Without waiting for an invitation, Jazz sat on one of the chairs, elbows on his knees, looking at his hands, his field hesitant.

He began to talk. “I'm trying to let go of the past, because it was slag and it doesn't define what I am, but… it's hard. The others were awful beings, and that's easy to accept. I'm glad they were all wiped. But I don't know what to do with you because you were a victim too. I don't know what to do with what you did… That was not right. It's disgusting, it hurt, and yet… I forgive you.” Looking at Prowl, Jazz held his gaze for a second before getting up and exiting the room quietly.

Stunned, Prowl didn't have time to say anything, and besides, he had no idea what to say… Emotions whirled in his mind, hope that someday Jazz would relax around him and his tentative dreams or racing and talking and listening to Jazz play the violino again could be real warred with shame for what he did… Unable to think, Prowl spent the rest of the cycle looking at his datapads without really seeing them.

-+-

In the ensuing days, mechs noticed Prowl was distracted, not acting like himself. The truth was, he was having trouble with the idea of Jazz forgiving him. Prowl had bought him and his brother, abused them both, then sent them to die in a misguided attempt at kindness because he couldn’t accept the consequences of his actions. Jazz’s eggs had died! Because of him! And the mech wasn't mad at him?

Ricochet's reaction made sense to Prowl. The anger, the pain, that was easy to understand. Why Jazz wasn't angry? He should be!

The confusion took a long time to fade.

-+-

Ratchet’s visits no longer surprised him. The mech often came to his new office. They talked quietly about the current rumors on the base, who was interfacing with who and how those romances were playing out. Prowl, who had never been in a romance, found gossiping about others’ both enjoyable and informative — if he ever had someone he could act out those romances with; Ratchet would smile and laugh with him quietly. Ratchet also liked trashy romances, and would goad Prowl into reading them, and together they would mock them afterward. It took very little time for Prowl to realized how much those visits were something he was looking for, a little like Jazz, in the library back at the castle, but without the power imbalances, the deception, the regret (and the lack of regret), and everything else that eventually would sour those memories.

This is why after struggling with himself for several days over Jazz’s confession of forgiveness, Prowl decided to visit Ratchet in his office, instead of waiting for the medic to come to him. And he was welcomed with a smile and a small glass of fine high grade like the friend he was. Ratchet was the first Autobot he had met after Praxus’ fall, and Ratchet never made him feel like he was unwelcome. But those invitations were new. Like Ratchet wanted to meet him alone…

And Prowl felt the same. He realized he wanted to spend time specifically with the medic.

-+-

Months later, Prowl and Ratchet were often spending quality time together. Prowl truly enjoyed those moments and wasn’t shy about walking to the medic’s office anymore.

Though the first time Ratchet told him no, that he was busy, Prowl replied angrily: “How dare you! This is no way to talk to me!”

Ratchet stopped what he was doing and slowly turned his head towards Prowl, looking ready to hurt someone. His arm pointed the door of the medbay. “Get out of my office. NOW! I am the chief medical officer of this base and in no way I am going to accept anyone talking to me like this! I have several wounded requiring my attention and I have no time for idiots who can’t control themselves. _Out!_ ”

Mortified, humiliated since the whole medbay had heard him being yelled at, Prowl walked out briskly. He was furious. How dare he! Locked into his small office, Prowl sat down and tried to concentrate, but nothing would work.

Suddenly, like a kick in his processor, Prowl realized what he’d just done. He had yelled at his friend like he was the Baron addressing one of his slaves. Again, the monster in him came out, hurting the others around him.

The idea of losing Ratchet’s friendship hurt more than he could imagine. He had to fix this, but how? How to apologize when he had never had to do so before in his life? He started to write a letter, but stopped. No. What he did was vile, and he felt only apologizing in person would worth it. Instead, Prowl waited for the crisis in the medbay to end before going back.

-+-

Three days. It took three days before things went back to normal in medbay, where Ratchet worked non-stop and probably didn’t sleep. On top of feeling foolish for acting like a noble brat, now Prowl felt guilty for stressing Ratchet more at a time when he didn’t need any more stress. This was not acceptable behavior towards a friend. That’s why he brought a mostly full bottle of quality highgrade with him (acquired at greater expense than it was really worth from one of the only other surviving Praxans who’d joined the army), hoping it would help the medic unwind.

Knocking at the medic’s door, no one replied. Feeling guilty as he did so, Prowl opened the door slowly and found Ratchet fast asleep on his desk. The first thing that came to his mind was how handsome he was even unkempt and covered in spots of dubious origin. Surprised by this seemingly random thoughts, he decided to exit the office silently. This was no time to talk. That’s when he heard his name.

“Prowl…?” Ratchet sound tired but not furious. Not wishing to add insult to injury, Prowl turned toward his friend, seeing the medic looking half awake, rubbing his face. “What’re ya doin ‘ere?” he slurred.

Prowl place the bottle right in front of Ratchet. “I came to apologize for being such an obnoxious fool. I… I am sorry. I will let you sleep.” You probably need it more than my presence, he thought. He then started to close the door.

“Stay.” Ratchet sat more comfortably in his chair. “I won’t be able to fall back asleep, and besides, this chair will kill my back.” Groaning, Ratchet stretched his arms and back. Looking a bit more awake, he looked at Prowl who was still close to the door. “So… you wanted to apologize. You realize you acted like slag, right?”

“I do.”

“And what do you want to do with it”?

Prowl looked confused. “I… I came to apologize?”

“No, I mean, do you really believe I should bend to your every wish?”

Prowl’s optics became very large. “No!” Then, without asking, he sat on the chair. “No. Even if I wanted to be that person, I know what I was could never be accepted here. I do not want to be that person; it— _he_ was wrong… Sometimes when under pressure it comes out. I am trying not to.”

Ratchet looked at him for a minute, then smiled. “Prowl, I admire the mech you’re working to become. Would you… go out on a date with me?”

Prowl’s small, shy smile was an answer in itself.

-+-

Too nervous to make any decision, Prowl couldn’t make and plans regarding their date. It was Ratchet who invited Prowl for an evening of games. They had played before, with Ratchet’s other friends, true, but this time they would be alone, together, in Ratchet’s office. They had spent time together in Ratchet’s office before but calling it a date, going to his quarters, that made the whole thing so different in Prowl’s mind. During the day he was so anxious, he could barely think, even less work.

And when it was finally time to go, Prowl doubted himself. Who had thought this would be a good idea? Of course he was going to ruin everything. Everything he touches turns to dust!

Prowl took so much time debating with himself in his quarters, tortured by uncertainty, he failed to be ready on time and was late. Which made the whole situation worse. Now convinced he had just ruined his first and probably only chance of happiness, he sat on his small berth, elbows on his knee and hands on his face, convinced he could never do anything good. He felt crushed.

That’s when he heard knocking on his door. Surprised, he looked at his door like he couldn’t understand what it meant.

 _Knock-knock._ “Prowl? It’s Ratchet. You there?” He tried the door and, because Prowl had left it unlocked, it opened; Ratchet entered the room, closing it behind him. “You’re so miserable I could feel it on the other side of your door.” He walked to Prowl and, sitting on a chair, took one of his hands. “Something wrong?”

“I am a wreck. I will probably do or say something awful and… Look at me. This is exactly what I just did.”

Ratchet only smiled and stood up, bringing Prowl with him. “No, you’re not. Come with me, everything’s ready. We’ll play some games we both enjoy, drink a little bit, I’ll probably make you smile and, if I’m lucky, maybe you’ll laugh? That’s all I expect, no need to make it complicated.”

In a bit of a trance, Prowl went with Ratchet, leaving his hand inside Ratchet’s. People in the hallway talked as they always did, this time wondering why they were holding hands, and Prowl was sure the rumor mill would go crazy. Prowl decided it didn’t matter. Him having someone was a good thing. Let’s them talk.

Ratchet opened his office’s door and made sure Prowl was sitting before joined him at the table, where, as promised, the games were already set up on his desk. With a smile, Ratchet started the first game.

Contrary to his worries, the evening went like a charm. He had fun and even laughed a little bit. Ratchet smiled (a smile Prowl liked very much, thank you) and Prowl didn’t want to leave. A perfect evening.

-+-

Prowl realized something was changing when he saw Jazz flirting with another mech and he didn’t feel the same burning jealousy. At least not as much. Oh, he still felt very possessive, and that would probably never completely go away, but the desire to walk over to Jazz and tell him to stop was fading.

With a small smile, Prowl looked at Ratchet sitting close to him. He reached out his hand and his smile widened when Ratchet took it. Together they watched Jazz dance.

-+-

Several dates later, Prowl felt comfortable with the idea of having someone in his life. That didn't stop him from worry about all those steps ‘normal’ couples would go through though. Kissing and touching and exploring each others’ bodies… He wouldn’t mind exploring Ratchet’s frame, but what would Ratchet thinks of Prowl’s? And kissing? He had no idea how. Ricochet and Jazz didn’t count. He was probably a terrible kisser and they hadn’t said anything, for obvious reasons.

Prowl tried not to think about it too much. He and Ratchet had already played games, watched a movie in the rec room, went on several quiet walks together, and gone to an amateur comedy show run by some Autobots. For this evening, Prowl had invited Ratchet in his (small) quarters to watch another movie together. Alone, this time. It was the first time they were going to one of their quarters for a date.

As the movie played, Prowl realized Ratchet was looking at him, not the screen. He turned his head, wondering, when Ratchet’s hand lightly touched his face. “I want to kiss you, Prowl. Is that ok?”

Movie forgotten, Prowl simply nodded, trying to remember how to talk. Ratchet came closer and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek, then another, closer to his lips, and a third. Prowl closed his eyes, trembling. How could something so simple feel so wonderful? Ratchet finally reached Prowl’s lips and left a series of hesitant pecks there before opening his lips and nibbling on Prowl’s own.

A bit lost, Prowl laid one of his hands on Ratchet’s waist, stroking it gently. He decided to let Ratchet take the lead. He wanted more but had no idea how. He wasn’t sure what to do.

With a final kiss Ratchet, stepped back with a smile. “Everything’s fine?”

“Yes.” Licking his lips, Prowl smiled back. “I have never kissed…” ashamed, Prowl look down, “consensually.”

“Then let’s change that,” Ratchet said and kissed him again, letting his tongue caress Prowl’s lips. Moaning gently, Prowl opened them and guided his tongue to touch Ratchet’s lightly, like he remembered Jazz doing for him, during that very first kiss. This time its Ratchet who groaned, pressing himself against Prowl.

Prowl realized that was it, he was kissing Ratchet and it was amazing. He wanted… He wanted many things all of the sudden. More kisses and more hands, Ratchet’s voice and moans and lips… His hand touched the back of Ratchet’s head and pressed it against him, asking for more. He opened his mouth and left his tongue caress Ratchet’s. They gasped as they broke the kiss and at that moment, the medic left his mouth and traveled to his audials, licking and nibbling them with more passion. And his hands… All over him, touching his back and his waist and all of a sudden his aft… Optics wide opened, Prowl moaned loudly. His frame felt like never before! Sensitive in a way he had never experienced, the slightest touch feeling like warmth, tingles...

Too much, it was too much. The tingles turned into an itch, a need to remove the irritation. “Stop, Ratchet, it itches!”

Ratchet stopped, panting, and looked at Prowl with a lot of confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Prowl move back on his seat, looking annoyed, ashamed. “I am sorry, my frame, it feels like it tickles. It is very irritating.”

Ratchet lost his smile to a frown of worry. Immediately he pulled his diagnostic cable, and, after a pause to wait for Prowl’s nod, plugged into Prowl’s wrist. “Ah, I see. Your armor was almost completely replaced, and it isn’t used to that much stimulation. You need to get used to it to have it touched.” Ratchet caressed his arm, smile returning. “Which means we’ll have to go slow.” And with the smile he had, Ratchet clearly didn’t mind at all. He left a chaste kiss on his lips and opened his arm. “A hug? That should work.”

Pressing his head on Ratchet’s shoulders, Prowl smile and closed his eyes. It wasn’t much, but it still felt delightful.

-+-

They hadn’t interfaced yet, but laying on his… not lover, not yet. Courtmate. That. It was an archaic term, used only in poems, but Prowl liked the sound of it, and it made Ratchet smile.

So. Laying in his courtmate’s berth, half-drifting while the other mech petted him soothingly. Idly he wondered if Ratchet would be willing to wear a pair of cybercat ears and a tail… or what it would be like to wear them himself, for Ratchet…

“I’ve realized something since we started this,” Ratchet said suddenly; suddenly enough to shock Prowl into full wakefulness, and only his long-familiarity with his mangled frame kept him from jumping. He bit back a snapped command to be quiet, reminding himself that Ratchet was not a servant, a pleasuremech, and definitely wasn’t a slave. He was allowed to talk. Ratchet had made that very clear, and Prowl was getting better at remembering it. It was just hard sometimes, when jolted or surprised. “You'll never completely heal,” Ratchet continued, “but regular stretching would do a lot of good. Regular recruit’s combat training would do more harm than anything, but I would recommend some of the beginners’ circuit-su exercises. They could help you increase your mobility.”

Surprised, Prowl carefully sat up to look at Ratchet. “I suppose you have some instructional vids. Or did you have an actual instructor in mind? Not everyone is ready to spend time with me, as you are well aware.”

“I know this may sound strange given your mutual history,” Ratchet said carefully, taking Prowl’s hands encouragingly, “but Jazz is a master of this discipline. I could ask him for you, if you want. ”

Prowl was fairly certain that if he was the one to track down Jazz, instead of waiting for Jazz to come to him, Jazz would rightfully say no. Part of him wanted to hear Jazz say no, to deny him and force himself to accept that, just so he could prove to himself he’d changed and was worthy of being Ratchet’s courtmate…

But Ratchet had a legitimate health concern, and if he thought Jazz would be the best one to help, Prowl would accept that too. “Please.”

“I will.”

Later Ratchet told him Jazz had said yet and wanted him, Prowl, to call him to set up a time. Not exactly sure, Prowl sent a short com to Jazz. “Hello, Jazz. Ratchet just told me you would be willing to teach some circuit-su? Is that true?”

The answer was immediate. “True! But no combat at first. Kata, mech. Those will be good for you.”

And that was how Prowl ended up in the training room, alone with Jazz for his very first session. He had no idea what to expect, and it was nerve-wracking. He could barely keep his field contained. Prowl felt they had made good progress recovering from their pasts. He even tentatively called Jazz a friend, and hoped it was mutual, but they had never spent any time together doing anything other than talking.

Jazz finally entered the room and Prowl noticed immediately how focused he was, compared to his usual upbeat persona. He liked it — he liked everything he saw of Jazz — but… Unsure, Prowl simply waited for Jazz to speak first.

Looking at him, Jazz smiled, which helped Prowl relax.

“This room is my dojo, Prowl. That’s what you call a circuit-su training room. In my dojo, I’m in charge. If you can live with that, and follow my rules, everything’ll fine.” His smile took on a crooked edge that clearly said he knew how difficult that might be for both them, and he would not hold it against Prowl if he believed he couldn’t — as long as he said so now, instead of rebelling later.

Prowl immediately felt his anxiety draining away. It seemed like he had no reason to worry, because Jazz’s declaration made him feel relieved, not rebellious. Even eager. This would be a better test — and training — than just forcing himself to accept Jazz saying no to him.

He hoped others wouldn't react badly to him spending more time with Jazz, especially his brother. Ricochet still hated him, and Prowl could only feel it was justified.

One step at a time, he thought. Just like he had since joining the Autobots, Prowl would take care of any problems that arose as they came.

-+-

Prowl didn't feel any positive effects on his frame even after a couple of training sessions with Jazz. It was good on his mind, it helped him stay calm, stay focused, and remember even when surprised or intimate that he was not in charge. But physically it was hard. He felt stiff, and every move was almost as painful as before he’d been repaired for days after the first. And the second. And even weeks later. He refused to abandon it, but people noticed his achy gait, even if he tried to hide it.

Not all the comments were snide, or lewd. Some mechs expressed real concern. Each time Prowl could only stop and stare before stammering out something about taking up circuit-su as a hobby, and be utterly baffled at the winces of sympathy. Even those who didn’t know the extent of how mangled Prowl had been when he’d been brought in after Praxus still knew he’d been categorically excluded from combat, training, and all other normally mandatory physical activities. But it was beyond strange for him to get sympathy for it!

-+-

Prowl loved touching Ratchet, and loved being touched too. They also spoke a lot, and if Prowl had trouble believing it, Ratchet told him he had no problem with his disabilities. The permanent damage to his interfacing equipment — his spike malfunctioned and the damage to his valve and gestation systems had been so extensive Ratchet had simply welded both shut — bothered Prowl the most, but they didn’t matter, according to Ratchet.

Knowing Ratchet didn’t mind didn’t help that much, Prowl still considered himself hideous, a monster. He kept his opinion to himself, and tried to listen to Ratchet. Ratchet, who had never seen his previous frame. Who judged him only on what he currently had, and told him many times he was good looking.

This is was only one reason he was worried as they laid together in his courtmate’s bed. He felt like some delicate matters needed to be discussed. But how? As their relationship had turned more intimate, Prowl had started collecting more books that were just… porn, in an effort to be not so inexperienced, but he still liked many of the same things he had as the Baron. Prowl wavered between being revolted at himself and soothed that his kinks could be normal, at least, according to the novels he read. Ratchet tolerated his skittishness. And according to the few novels Ratchet had praised for being realistic, couples talked about those things so… “Ratchet, do you have any kinks?”

Ratchet coughed and looked at Prowl with surprises. “I’m sorry, I think I heard something strange, what did you say?”

“I asked you if you had any kinks.”

“Ok… You’re being bold here, but I like it.”

Prowl looked sheepish. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Ratchet smiled, reaching out to use two fingers to tilt Prowl’s head up so they were looking each other in the optics. “People tend not to talk about those things, and it causes all kinds of confusion. As I said, I like it. So, to answer your question, yes, I do have ‘kinks’, as you say. I don’t mind some bondage, I’m more a submissive than anything, and I like pet play.”

When his courtmate mentioned pet play, Prowl lightly bit his bottom lip. “You do?”

“Yes, why?”

“I do, too… I do not know if I should say it but… Jazz, Ricochet we… They found some cybercat props and acted like my pets and I… I watched them, and I petted them until it led to interface.” He had liked that a lot, and he wanted to see Ratchet in a set of fuzzy ears, even if he couldn’t imagine the medic ever being as kittenish as the twins had been. More like a willful, grumpy cat.

Ratchet stayed silent for a long a moment, long enough to make Prowl squirm. He shouldn’t have said all that! “I’ll be honest with you, that isn’t something I’m completely comfortable with. Not your preferences. Those are very normal. But why you have them… That’s something. Let’s say I wasn’t expected that this morning when I woke up.”

Mortified, Prowl lowered his head, afraid Ratchet would walk away from him. “Are you disgusted?”

Ratchet took Prowl’s chin and raised it until he could look into his optics. “You did the right thing. If I want to be with you, I have to accept all of you, even your past. It isn’t easy. Give me some time to swallow it, but I do not hate you for it. I rather like how you work on changing.”

“I could be your pet,” Prowl offered.

-+-

Waking up with his courtmate caressing his plating felt _veeeery_ nice, something Prowl discovered the first time they slept in the same berth. Adding kisses to it? Even better. Prowl loved all these things he was discovering.

This time, surprisingly, Ratchet wasn’t stopping after waking Prowl up. It seemed he wanted to explore his plating even more, going down and… Ohh…! Prowl felt kisses on his lower abdomen, and even lower… Prowl lit up his optics and gasped. Ratchet was looking at him with a crooked smile and cute pair of cybercat’s ears… His nose gently on his panel with a demanding meow.

Without his permission his panel opened. Even if this was the first time he was revealing himself to his courtmate, Prowl was too lost in lust to mind. He was already panting, even without any real stimulation. Then he felt a gentle tongue licking around his valve.

To his absolute astonishment, it felt pleasurable. More than that, it was heavenly. Where he had been sure he would feel only pain or nothing at all, he was feeling _pleasure._ And those ears… he was entranced by them, twitching of their own accord. Dimly he saw the strip of fur down his courtmate’s back, the tail waving behind him, like his every fantasy come to solid life. He was still looking at Ratchet, watching him act like a cybercat, licking him like he was the most delicious thing on Cybertron. Suddenly Ratchet found something just outside Prowl’s valve and closed his lips around it, sucking gently. That was too much for Prowl, who overloaded on the spot.

Everything turned black.

When he regained consciousness, Ratchet’s chin was on his chest, looking at him like he wanted something. Prowl, too lost in the surprise of this valve overload, didn’t notice.

“How? I was told I couldn’t…”

Ratchet remove the ears magnetized on his plating. “The entrance isn’t damaged and is still full of sensors. Which _were_ damaged, but I don’t half-aft repairs. I replaced the ones I could.” He then smiled. “It’s been a while since I sent a mech into stasis with some oral.” Ratchet then reattached the ears and adopted his role again.

Delighted, Prowl started to gently pet his courtmate (lover? Were they lovers now?) head with one hand, the other doing the same on the rest of his plating. He felt his pet shivering under his fingers and his engine purring.

Having an idea, Prowl got up and grabbed two coils of soft, colored rope Ratchet had given him after they had discussed bondage.. Prowl had no real experience, but he had been practicing what Ratchet had showed him and he was willing to try. They had already discussed a safeword (uncreatively but unambiguously, it was “safeword” for both of them) at least, though Prowl knew he would alway back off when Ratchet said no. And he made sure the rounded scissors Ratchet had given him with the ropes were available, with a nervous, happy sparkflutter at being _responsible_ rather than demanding.

When his pet saw what he had in his hands he purred louder and his head rubbed on Prowl’s chest, field radiating approval. Taking one of his arms, Prowl used one rope to carefully attach it to the other in a criss-cross pattern. Then, pushing his pet on the berth pad gently, he stroked his head lovingly before doing the same with his legs. When he was done he stroked, petted and caressed Ratchet’s entire frame for a long moment, savoring the lingering, gentle touches.

Prowl laid his pet on his chest, who was purring enthusiastically as Prowl continued to map his frame. Prowl found the whole experience erotic, yes, but strangely relaxing too. Ratchet’s reactions were genuine. He wasn’t trying to get his approval, or manipulate him, or stave off his wrath. Knowing this wasn’t false in any way felt more alluring than anything he’d ever done before. And he loved those cute shivers Ratchet made when Prowl delicately stroked some sensitive seams. Discovering his pet’s sweet spots was one of the greatest things he’d ever done. Prowl had total control of him, and yet no one was hurting. He was doing something right for once, and it was perfect.

-+-

He finally felt improvement in his frame after a year as Jazz’s student. His frame got used to the katas, the stretches, and the meditation Jazz kept him practicing — not moving onto combat training. Prowl realized he enjoyed their sessions. It was relaxing; learning to meditate with his teacher was extremely good for his stress levels.

He also discovered so many things about Jazz, things he wouldn't have been able to learn in any other way. Why he liked music so much, why he still played the violino. What he dreamed about for when the war was done. How sometimes he and his brother still disagreed, and annoyed the slag out of each other when there wasn’t anything else to focus on. After months, Prowl shyly replied and mentioned his new friends and hobbies. He talked about Ratchet, and was certain he wasn’t imagining things when Jazz relaxed even more after hearing about Prow’s tentative steps into a romantic and sexual relationship with an equal. He even gave Prowl advice, admitting he’d gone through something similar when he’d joined the Autobots.

Jazz would very rarely share bits about his life as a slave. He talked about some the scars left over from his miscarriage in the forest, how he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to carry a clutch of eggs again. But because of how the knots were removed from slaves’ spikes, he’d never be able to sire hatchlings either. He even admitted in hushed tones how often he still chose to deactivate his visor and navigate the world blind. Those, Prowl didn't like hearing because they reminded him of what he did, but if Jazz needed to vent, Prowl listened like the friend he was trying to be.

-+-

Prowl visited the rec room mostly late at night. Sometimes it was full of people, music, dancing. Sometimes it was perfect, quiet and calm, with the rare mech or two discussing something in low voices. It seemed tonight Prowl would be lucky, so he grabbed a cube and sat in a corner of the quiet room, ready to enjoy a lonely but comfortable dinner.

Without asking first, Ricochet slid into the seat across from him. His hardened stare looked right into Prowl’s suddenly nervous optics. If Ricochet tried to kill him now, Prowl would not be able to defend himself, and there was no one here to stop him. Yet Ricochet’s field felt aggressive, but not threatening.

"You realize my brother respects you?” Ricochet’s voice cut through the sound of Prowl’s labored venting. Surprised, Prowl couldn't hold the shock from his own field. Prowl had never expected… Ricochet continued, ignoring Prowl's reaction. “I can't see what he sees you, but after all he went through, I wouldn't refuse him anything. So don't ever hurt him. Or you'll wish the medics had never dug you out of your deathtrap manor. Understand?"

Prowl could only stare as he tried to find a suitable answer. “Of-of course, Ricochet. I have learned a lot living among the Autobots, and your brother is a good friend — someone I would not hurt, force, or so much as touch without his permission.” He looked down at the table. He didn’t know if Ricochet and Ratchet even ever spoke to each other, but he felt it was important to say, “Ratchet either. I love him.”

Ricochet just looked at him, analyzing the mech he hated before reaching a conclusion. “Yeah. Maybe my brother's right, and you have changed.”


End file.
